Confessions of an Unconvinced Submissive
by ClaireBamboozle
Summary: After attending marriage guidance, middle aged Edward and Bella decide to explore each others sexual fantasies with unexpected results.


**This was written for a bit of fun. I started thinking how I could never be a submissive since I am way to outspoken and snarky to be told what to do and would probably drive even the most earnest Dom crazy. This spiraled into wondering how much of the Dom mindset is playacting I mean there must come a point where they just want to slob out in front of the TV with a beer in one hand and the other down the waistband of their pants, or even how the heck do they exist in the real world dealing with women on a day to day basis? This then morphed into how it would be if a regular husband decided to dabble in a little Dom play. . .Enjoy.**

**I don't own Twilight or Fifty Shades of Grey, This is written purely for fun and no copywrite infringement is intended. **

**This was originally written as an original one shot and posted on my Five Star Ficster's Group on Free Writers and Readers site, but I thought you guys might like to read it too, so I Twilighted it up just for you.  
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**Thanks go to Keye Cullen and Rita01TX for prereading and Leech Lover Claudia for the lovely banner.**

**WARNING:- This is unBetaed! If misplaced commas offend you step away now.**

**Confessions of an Unconvinced Submissive.**

I am being a good girl, waiting in silence until Mr Cullen decides it's time to honor me with his presence. I've chosen the standard submissive pose; kneeling close by the wall, palms pressed flat to the tops of my thighs, head bowed, eyes fixed on the sage green carpet beneath me.

I will not move, I will be what he needs me to be.

I'm not sure how much longer he will leave it before he makes his grand entrance. I would guess it has been at least ten minutes already, but I can't tell for certain since there isn't a clock in the spare bedroom. . .or the playroom as he prefers to call it these days.

I'm naked apart from a pair of white cotton panties and can't help wishing I'd cranked the heating up a couple of degrees before we started this tonight.

The panties aren't very sexy, or particularly innocent looking either. They are more. . .practical, with a high waist line to hold in the soft flesh of my mummy tummy. When we first 'played' I made the mistake of donning my favorite underwear. They were a cornflower blue matching set in silk with lace panels. The kind that always made me stand taller and feel a little sexier, just from knowing they were secretly supporting me under my clothes. I almost threw a fit when he tied my wrists to the bedposts before curling his fingers against the lace and tearing into them. I've no doubt he honestly thought I would find it exciting, that it was be a gesture oozing with so much desperate testosterone that I would moan wantonly and collapse against the mattress in a lust filled haze.

That only happens in books.

In real life when a man attempts to do this, only the main section of fabric gives way. The waistband and the seams around the legs stubbornly refuse to rip and you end up half wearing a tattered garment with red angry friction burns around your hips and thighs.

For a moment he didn't know how to react to his failure. Obviously, he didn't want to fall out of character and say he was sorry, but the murderous look in my eye instantly shriveled his desire for the night and he wordlessly untied me.

I sulked all the way through dinner, slamming dishes and treating him to particularly withering glances until he apologized and promised to buy me a new set of underwear.

My name is Isabella Marie Cullen and I've been married to my childhood sweetheart Edward for almost 25 years. He's the sweet and generous man who gave me my beautiful twin daughters and there is no one else I could conceive of spending my life with.

Over the years however, things had grown stale. I don't know if there is a fixed point where the dynamics of a relationship change but, little by little you stop communicating and that frisson of excitement you once felt at the thought of coming home to your partner to cuddle on the sofa and retell the funny stories you overheard around the water cooler gives way to more mundane discussions about which way you want your eggs cooked and grumbles about the car. Until, pretty soon you don't see them as the vibrant and sexual being they once were. They become too obscured by the opaque demands of parenting and running a home.

That's what happened to us.

We had slowly morphed into some kind of Edward and Bella Marie amalgam. A jumbled up mishmash of mechanic and part time librarian with a dash of reliable parental backup thrown in for good measure. We weren't individuals any more, we thought and spoke as one, rarely needing to discuss anything, since our views and goals had long since converged.

When the girls went off to university I found the silence in the house deafening. Our roles. . .Hell, our whole lives had been defined by the act of raising and guiding these two precious people who had suddenly found their feet and were busy running full pelt, trying to catch hold of their own dreams. I had a new enemy to battle, the scourge of time on my hands. Edward was lucky. He could escape to a full time job and the lively banter of his work colleagues. I had three, half days at the local library discouraging any attempt at conversation.

I started to resent him for it. He didn't seem to be suffering like I was. In desperation I tried to fill my time with hobbies; baking, needle point, even knitting, but none of it stopped me from wanting to call the girls on a daily basis - just in case they needed anything.

The marriage guidance councilor called it empty nest syndrome. Taking extra care to keep a look of sympathy on her brightly painted face while she condescended to explain how my feelings of loneliness and frustration were rooted in my having no defined purpose any more, that I'd spent the last nineteen years in the driving seat of the family RV, planning meals, organizing schedules and attending parental assessments only to have the plug pulled the day the girls moved into their student accommodation.

_The family RV!_ Patronizing cow. What life experience did she have that hadn't been picked up second hand from reading a text book? She couldn't have been more than twenty three, barely out of diapers. Just wait until she'd been through an eighteen hour labor, only to be carted off to theater for an emergency section, or nursed a dying relative, or had her heart crushed by bitterness and disappointment because she never got to achieve her dreams. . ._Then_ she'd have earned the right to give an opinion on other peoples lives.

I wonder what she would make of my ability to kneel here in the cool air of the playroom, waiting to see if Mr Cullen is in the mood to give me a firm spanking or not?

It was thanks to one of her exercises - which felt suspiciously like homework, that I'm in this position at all. She suggested we each make a list of our unspoken sexual fantasies before sharing them. She was convinced this would open the lines of communication in the bedroom which she swore was the key to rebuilding our stagnant relationship.

I took a deep breath and wrote down '_spontaneous sex in a public place_', then added a rider, '_but not too public'_...maybe in a toilet cubicle or a changing room would be exciting, somewhere other people might be close by, but definitely not somewhere as exposed as the middle of a crowded train carriage in full view. Actually, it wasn't my first choice. I'd wanted to put sex with a stranger, especially one in motorbike leathers with a mirrored visor to his helmet, that way I would have no idea who he was while he silently and roughly ravished me. But, I hesitated, thinking Edward might be upset because he didn't feature as my faceless, fantasy lay so, instead I just let the scene play out in the privacy of my own head. . .maybe more than once.

He nodded thoughtfully at my suggestion and I assumed he was already considering a suitable location before he passed across his paper. I wasn't sure what I'd expected him to write, but it certainly wasn't the words 'Master and Slave play.' It felt like a slap in the face. What the Hell! He'd waited 25 years to tell me he pictured himself as the Marquis de Sade.

It certainly opened up the channels of conversation.

We had a heated discussion about why he would find collaring and humiliating the mother of his children arousing. Well, I say discussion, it went more along the lines of me yelling while he tried to defend himself, saying what turned him on was his business and I had no right to criticize his choices. The worse thing was I knew he was right and there was no way he could ever raise a subject like that without hurting me, but I was starting to wish I'd put mystery motorbike shag at the top of my list to have shocked him first.

When the initial surprise faded and I'd calmed enough to listen, he explained it wasn't some kind of kinky, sadistic, fetish fantasy, where he wanted me to lick his boots and feel subservient. In fact he blanched at the thought of actually hurting me. I managed to stay neutral, but was still hopelessly confused. Eventually he sucked in a deep breath, steeling himself before revealing his deepest secret.

It was much simpler than I could ever have imagined.

He was feeling the march of time. At fifty four he was the old guy among the fresh faced, energetic twenty somethings at the garage and, with only a decade standing between him and retiring to his pipe and slippers he was struggling to get things into perspective. He didn't feel ready to give up on life and wanted to be important, respected and cherished again.

It instantly deflated my indignation. I watched with understanding as the sadness settled on his face and for a moment I saw him for the person he was on the inside. He was still the same loving and vibrant man I fell for all those years ago. My first and only. The one who kissed and caressed my swollen belly as he sang nursery rhymes to his baby girls, long before he would feel them in his arms and those arms had been strong enough to hold me together when I was busy falling apart at my fathers funeral.

He may have been a little more life worn and wrinkled around the edges, his once firm abs had long since given way to a bit too much softness in his midsection, but I knew with absolute certainty that I wanted and needed him by my side, or I would have no future at all.

I still loved him. There was no question about it.

He conceded that slave probably wasn't the best choice of word. Submissive might have been a better description. He didn't want to degrade me, he just wanted to see me look at him with lust and desire in my eyes again.

It made my heart ache to know he was hurting, so I agreed to try, for his sake.

I didn't sleep that night. I wasn't really sure what being a submissive meant and my mind was whirling with scary images of whips, chains and rubber. Fortunately for me, Edward seemed to have done some research already and came home the next day clutching a series of best selling books for me to read. They seemed innocent enough, nothing racy or salacious on the cover, just a knotted silver tie, but he was sure they would give me a basic idea of what submission entailed.

For days they sat unopened on the coffee table. It was almost like I was afraid to touch them, knowing the moment I peeled open the cover of the darned things there would be no going back. I would be committed to the experiment.

Two weeks later, I'd lost most of my holidays and reached the final page of book three.

I had so many questions and a few strong objections. Firstly there was no way he was getting me to sign any stupid pretend contract, neither was I was going to the gym or the beauty salon for full body waxes. That was too much like torture and besides, he's had me for a quarter of a century and this was not the time to start telling me he likes his women looking like a plucked chicken. Secondly I didn't want to be put in any situation I couldn't get myself out of with a little effort. Julie Jefferson at work's husband keeled over with a heart attack at 56 and there was no way I wanted to be in the position of having to dial 911 with my big toe because Edward had fastened my hands to the bed post with plastic cable ties. Not to mention how excruciatingly embarrassing it would be to have the emergency services find me trussed up while he was lying face down clutching his chest with one hand and a riding crop with the other.

Finally, I was not prepared to wear one of those rubber masks with a zipper for the mouth, I once wore a witch mask to a Halloween party and I'll tell you, I never knew a face could sweat so much, quite aside from the overpowering smell, but I was worrying unnecessarily over that one, apparently Edward had a bit of a thing against masks since watching Texas Chainsaw Massacre as a teenager.

To be fair, he was very understanding of my conditions, even if he did raise his eyebrows when I mentioned the risk of him going into cardiac arrest. I think he was so euphoric I'd agreed to give it a go that he would have agreed to any of my sanctions.

I have to admit, I was quite intrigued by the thought of being spanked. It seemed such a taboo, being treated like a naughty schoolgirl and, I was curious to find out whether it would really heighten my arousal. I vetoed canes and leather belts, but okayed palm or maybe even a paddle. He leaned forward and shifted in his seat, obviously excited by the prospect of getting his hands on my naked ass. I think he was fully expecting me to have ruled spanking out all together.

The act itself was quite an experience. Edward was very masterful, carefully laying me across his knee before slapping first one cheek and then the other with the flat of his hand. His job had given him hardened palms and it stung rather than hurt, but the fact I was anticipating the next strike and pretending I was at his mercy did turn me on. When he slid his hand between my legs to check if I was aroused I bucked my hips against him and moaned loudly like a wanton whore, shocking us both.

The day he tried the paddle wasn't quite so successful. He'd been online and ordered one a week earlier, choosing pink silicone over leather because it was easy to clean, although I've seen how haphazardly he wipes down the kitchen worktops so, I decided I would take charge of any toy washing. When it arrived we had another row because I couldn't help blurting out that it was a waste of money as it was no different to the silicone spatulas that were lying redundant in the kitchen drawer since our new hobby meant I no longer had time for any baking.

He sulked for a while until I caved and let him try it out.

This was our first time with a spanker and I was impressed when Edward suggested we have a safe word, just in case it became too painful. I must admit, the thought hadn't even crossed my mind. He said it needed to be something unusual that would instantly pull us out of the moment. It's funny how your mind can go blank and we were struggling to come up with anything suitable between us. In the background the TV program changed and Sponge Bob SquarePant's annoying theme tune blared out. That was when Edward had his eureka moment, blurting out "Tarter sauce!" and like an idiot I agreed to it.

Unbeknownst to me, at the same time as ordering the paddle, Edward had bought a ball gag too. I hesitated when he said he asked if he could slip it on me, hoping a ball in my mouth wouldn't literally make me gag. I suppose I did make a lot of noise when we played and his eyes lit up when I opened my mouth, silently accepting his offering. He stroked my ass lovingly before slapping me hard with the paddle. It felt different to his bare palm, less loving and intimate somehow. That, plus the singing was sharper. Seven strokes in and the burn was becoming painful. I squirmed a little and tried to let him know, but the ball in my mouth muffled my voice. Remembering the safe word I shouted,

"Tarter sauce!"

Only for Edward to chuckle and say,

"Okay, if you insist my naughty girl."

He then reigned a volley of blows across my already flaming cheeks. The pain was intense. I wriggled against him, the tears flowing freely down my face. If he hadn't tied my wrists to the foot of the bed with a silk scarf I would have beat him on the thigh. As it was I did the only thing I could do. I screamed at the top of my lungs and stiffened, trying to roll away. He paused, finally looking in confusion at my puffy, tear stained face, with red eyes and strings of snot and saliva running around the gag and down my chin and the color drained from his own. In an instant he had me ungagged, untied and cradled in his lap.

"I'm so sorry Bella," he whispered. "I thought you were enjoying it."

"What the Hell, Edward. I used the fucking safe word!" I yelled back and he squirmed, unable to meet my furious stare.

"I'm. . .um, it sounded like '_harder, boss,'_ to me_. . ._I thought you wanted me to go faster."

"Boss? Really? Well, is this fast enough for you?" I huffed, as I struggled out of his arms, before limping from the room, summoning as much dignity as I could muster with my panties wrapped around my knees and my throbbing ass as red as a chilli pepper. I stopped at the door and in a final act of defiance I shouted, "Stop trying to be Christian fucking Grey!"

I couldn't sit down without wincing for almost a week and even had to sleep on my belly. Edward was devastated of course, apologizing at least six times daily. He even bought me flowers, something he hadn't done for years. They were lovely, a dozen red roses, perfectly coordinating with the color of my sore butt.

I decided then that pain was not in any way shape of form a sexual trigger for me and the paddle was relegated to the back of the bedside cabinet.

Actually, there are a ton of toys stowed in there. Vibrators and dildos of various shapes and sizes, nipple clamps - adjustable ones of course. I wouldn't risk anything too vicious, not after the 'paddlegate' incident- a few soft chamois floggers which felt more like a caress than punishment and of course a selection of hand and ankle restraints, all with easy release Velcro fasteners. . .just in case of sudden heart attack.

Sometimes, I worry about us both being killed together in a car crash, because I can only imagine the twin looks of horror, disbelief and disgust on our daughters identical faces when they come to sort through our things. I can only hope the fates are kind and allow one of us to go before the other, giving us a fighting chance at disposing of the evidence.

I will occasionally let Edward tie me up with soft cord, but only if he leaves scissors on the bedside cabinet. I might not look a pretty sight, rolling around like an upturned crab after he's fastened my knees to my elbows, but at least I can scuttle over and free myself if needs be. Edward found it hilarious when I demonstrated it once, suggesting if I ever tire of working at the library, I could have a bright future as an escapologist. He can giggle it up all he likes, maybe I'll put a dildo in his butt before I call for an ambulance when he has his seizure.

Thinking about the girls reminds me they're popping home next week, so I'll have to make sure to clear the toys up to the loft before they arrive. I don't want there to be anything lying around to fire their suspicions. Kate called once when we were in the middle of a session. At the time, Edward had me face down, spread-eagled on the bed, my wrists and ankles restrained to the posts. I twisted my head in time to see him rolling his eyes before he answered my cell phone. I huffed. If I'd have done that he'd have been dishing out the punishments.

Had it been anyone else but one of his precious girls he would have sent the call to voice mail. I tried not to think about how disgusted she would be if she could see what was happening on her old bed and focused instead on the long cobweb in the corner of the ceiling, making a mental note to shift it once we were done.

"Erm, no honey, your mother's a little tied up right now." I heard him say and I couldn't hold the eye roll at bay any longer. Fortunately for me he didn't notice because he was pacing around, looking faintly ridiculous, scratching his head with a two foot long peacock feather while his erection strained against the fly of his jeans.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry. If it helps, I never thought he was good enough for you."

"Pass me the phone." I whispered, but it came out like a hiss, my hands making frantic grasping signals against the leather restraining cuffs.

Reluctantly, he undid my hands before passing the phone and flopping on the edge of the bed. I spent the next thirty five minutes with my legs still spread, supporting our daughter as she poured her heart out over the line. At one point Edward tried to speed me up by massaging his way up my legs until he reached the apex. I signaled for him to move around and proceeded to give him a hand job while reassuring Kate there were plenty more fish in the sea. When he came with a loud groan she heard and instantly asked what was wrong. I'm not entirely sure she believed me when I said he was having some back trouble and I think she might be up for some snooping around while she's here.

Having a secret life does add a little extra excitement to daily life though. I sometimes find my mind drifting as I stamp the outgoing books, the sound making me think of the slap of his palm against my skin. Even at 46 it makes me shockingly wet for him. Sometimes I look around at the pinched faces of my colleagues with their tight buns and beige cardigans, years of shushing people having caused their features to settle in looks of permanent disapproval and wonder if they would ever agree to try anything as outrageous with their husbands. I've seen most of them of course. . .the other halves. To be fair, most of them don't look they have a good fuck left in them. Maybe I should be grateful for my husbands energy and try to be more sympathetic to these poor women.

I licked my lips, still tasting the generous double vodka I drank before I came in here today. Not that I usually normally drink in the afternoon but, I find a little Dutch courage works wonders to loosen me up a little. I can't hear Edward in the hallway yet, so I let my eyes drift. The wall paper in here looks tired. I frown, trying to remember if it was five of six years ago when he last decorated. Kate was going through a 'green' phase when she picked it out. I never liked it much, it was too busy and swirly but, this was her room and we wanted to encourage her budding sense of independence. I let my eyes relax, staring blankly at the expanse above the headboard, wondering if it would be like one of those magic eye pictures and I'd suddenly be able to make out the shape of an elephant or a car among the random patterns.

There was nothing, just a slight throbbing behind my eyeballs. I blinked it away, making a note to ask him about redecorating when we have dinner tonight. . .Oh, dinner! Did I remember to set the oven timer? Yes, definitely. . .maybe. Oh, well, too late now. We'll ring for pizza if I didn't. For a second I contemplate grabbing a towel and rushing down to the kitchen to check, but think better of it. If he catches me out of character again he'll sulk. The first time we 'played' I was waiting as I am now when I noticed some scuff marks on the skirting. He wasn't in the room, so I crept over to the bedside table, grabbed some baby wipes and set to work cleaning them off, only to be caught in the act when Edward flung the door open. I must have looked a sight, my ass in the air, boobs swinging low and slapping together as I bent double to rub frantically at the black marks. He growled and threw me onto the bed, snatching down my panties and ravished me before I had a chance to catch my breath. It was so shocking. I hardly had time to get going before he was cumming and pulling out. I was left gasping and confused while he simply shoved himself back in his jeans and said.

"That was your punishment for disobeying my orders." Then walked out leaving me dazed.

I should've been cross, but it was so hot, the masterful way he handled me. When I finally pulled myself together and staggered into the kitchen he was already waiting at the table, a smile on his face with words of love and two mugs of coffee. He beckoned for me to sit in his lap and caressed me while I drank down the sweet warm liquid. After we were done, he led the way to our normal bedroom and loved me all over again, this time tender and slow, making sure I had my pleasure.

Over time we've found a way to make this work for both of us and the initial teething problems have been overcome. Edward knows what turns me on and how far to push things. Sometimes I still get distracted, especially if he ties me up a little tighter on one side to the other and we have a new safe word and even some hand signals, just in case - _Motorcycle_. . .my suggestion of course and, I did eventually pluck up the courage to tell him my real fantasy and he was only too happy to make it come true on my birthday, but you know what? It wasn't half as exciting as watching him stride purposefully across the room wearing nothing but his jeans, before stroking my head and whispering what he wants to do to me.

So that is why I am here, waiting patiently in my standard submissive pose, eager to please my wonderful, loving husband and be the thing he needs me to be.

**A/N - Let me know if it gave you guys a giggle, I love hearing from you. **

**I have two dark stories coming next, a one shot featuring a feral Jake after he gets bitten by Laurent (and we all know whose blood smells the sweetest) and a three part evil psychotic Edward, so if they sound up your dark and twisted ally don't forget to click follow writer and you'll get an email when they post over the next couple of weeks. **

**Claire x**


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